Misplaced Hearts
by JaxLass
Summary: PostAWE - Will wanted to believe that his new wife would be in a safe, hidden place during his absence, but places don’t stay hidden or safe for long if there is something of known value at stake.
1. From Across Deepfall River

AN: This features Elizabeth, and how she is trying hard to reconcile with having no one in her life worthy of trust – until a misread act of innocence changes everything.

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Summary: Will wanted to believe that his new wife was in a safe, hidden place during his long absence, but places don't _stay_ hidden or safe if there is something of value at stake.

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**Part 1 - From Across Deepfall River**

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"Daniel McMurghan, is that you skulking in the bushes?"

Amid soft rustling, a ginger-headed face appeared, pale eyes round with excitement. "Oh, Missus Turner, it's you!"

Elizabeth climbed down off the rickety wagon to meet her neighbor's eleven year-old whom unfortunately reminded her of a miniature, ragged Ragetti with his unkempt hair and furtively darting eyes. "Of course, it's me," she sighed, "I've made this my home for two months as you well know, who else would it be?"

The boy's only response was a pensive look toward the small cabin to her left, his fingers curling and uncurling undecidedly in the air close to his face, too reminiscent of yet someone else she didn't want to think of.

When the child said nothing, however, Elizabeth shrugged off the remark and rounded the wagon, reaching in for one of the large baskets of berries, which she had been gathering on the southern hillside since sunset. The modest provisions which Will had unloaded from the _Empress_ were all but gone and Tai Huang's next agreed supply run was not due for another few weeks. Will, she recalled, had informed Huang that Feng's ship was his, but with the provision that he made monthly supply runs until he returned. The island, once called _Prosperity_, had been picked by Will's father, Bootstrap, because of its small, but friendly village of English families once shipwrecked there on their way to the Colonies.

Unfortunately, the place had changed since Bootstrap last visited: The pleasant, thriving village had gone, nothing but deserted huts in disrepair, overgrown footpaths and wild fields. A blight had overtaken the crops one season, and for many years since, according to Daniel's uncle, Mathew, no one had wanted to live on the eastern part of the large island but the McMurghan family, descended from the lost captain of the sunken _Prosperity_.

"Visitor..." the boy's eyes darted left toward the distant ravine dividing the island in half by a wide, rushing river. "From o'er across, p'rhaps?"

Elizabeth scoffed at the child's imagination and lifted the closest basket. "I'm told by your uncle that that's not possible, Daniel. The sea is the only way to reach East Deepfall. And even that's dangerous if you don't know where the rocks under the water are."

Daniel's uncle had said the inhabitants now called it East Deepfall, but didn't explain why, only that there was little to eat but fruits, fish and small animals which he faithfully provided for his widowed sister and her son. Even the cabin below the hillside, where she now lived, had once belonged to Mathew and his family. He'd abandoned it to live with Natalie after her husband had been lost at sea years ago. Will had accepted it graciously, and although their meeting with the new captain of the _Dutchman_ was brief, the widow spoke reverently about her Nathaniel as if Will should be honored to know him.

It wasn't until days later, after Will had left, that Elizabeth learned about Mathew's own family. Apparently, Daniel's uncle never spoke of his wife and young daughter, Emily, other than they had 'gone across' years earlier and weren't coming back. And oddly enough, when young Daniel talked of West Deepfall in front of him, Natalie hushed the boy, and made the sign of the cross before hastily voicing the usual hope that crops might grow this year. Elizabeth had left their cabin that evening with several jars of preserved jams and an odd sense of discomfort.

The impatient boy climbed into the wagon and pulled one of the baskets to the edge of the cart. "If I was ta say..." he hedged, grabbing a handful of red berries and smashing them eagerly into his mouth. "What if I was ta say how I'd seen one?" He absently rubbed berry-stained fingers on the tattered, over-sized shirt and leapt off the cart bare-footed.

"One _what_?"

"A guest... maybe?"

"A guest?" Elizabeth hesitated at the door to her modest cabin, glancing back over the top of the basket. "Then I'd say you were neglecting the weeds in my garden because you would have certainly not seen one _here_."

The boy pursed his berry-stained lips. "And if I was ta say... I did?" he pressed curiously, animated eyes large. He trotted over to the door in front of her and shoved it wide open as if to show the woman how easy it was to get inside her home.

"I know I latched that when I left," Elizabeth remarked half to herself, entering the small, but comfortable cabin. "Daniel?"

"A man," the boy insisted, skinny arms flailing about the tidy interior. "Saw 'im, myself, Missus Turner, what big as life, he be!"

"You saw a man _here_?" Elizabeth looked about her dwelling skeptically. Nothing seemed disturbed at first glance, yet something told her not to dismiss the words of this observant child so easily. The boy certainly had secrets to keep and she already knew about one.

Well, part of one, anyway - or so she believed.

TBC:

**Part 2 – Wish For A Boy**

AN: This story, despite obvious similarities, is not related to the ABSENTIA/LIES TRUE arc, therefore an automatic _Sparrabeth_ label does not apply here.


	2. Wish For A Boy

**Disclaimer: Elizabeth belongs to Disney, along with any other original character who may - or may not appear.**

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AN: Will has been aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ for about 2 months and the toll is being felt by his new wife. Yet even as Elizabeth starts to wonder if she is with child, a new concern arises that she may not be prepared to deal with alone.

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Summary: To prevent the boy's punishment, Elizabeth keeps Daniel's secret, but does this enigmatic child already know about hers?

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**Part 2 – Wish For A Boy**

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"Daniel, where be you, lad?"

McMurghan's gruff voice sounded from outside by a half-unloaded cart. Elizabeth turned to see the agitated boy toss her a desperate look and then race out the open door to meet his uncle. Setting the basket on the squat wooden table, she followed him, but at a much slower pace. No, the McMurghans didn't appreciate his wild talk about West Deepfall, but what if the boy _might_ be telling the truth?

"Daniel, your mother's a worrin', lad," the big red-haired man admonished, catching the boy around the back of the neck a little too roughly for Elizabeth's liking. "It be the switch for you, should I hear you been down at the--- oh, hullo, Mrs. Turner! And how be you, this fine mornin', then?"

Elizabeth could not help smile at the man's warm, gap-toothed greeting. It could be pouring rain and Mathew would still call the day fine. Daniel tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his uncle was a solidly built man and held the boy against his thigh with ease. She wondered if he knew about the boy's quick fingers and how often a trinket or piece of jewelry would be missing from her cabin not long after Daniel finished in the garden. And yet, Natalie McMurghan had been so generous teaching her sewing, cooking, and canning preserves that Elizabeth couldn't bear to speak ill of her child.

"I'm doing very well, thank you, Mathew," she returned, a little uneasy about what she had unintentionally interrupted. "Daniel's been helping me unload my cart, and I fear helping himself to _my_ berries as well."

The big man nodded and released his grip on the struggling boy. "That be good," he declared, cuffing Daniel's head lightly. "His poor mum fears he might get it in his head to be off wanderin' to... other places what she don't want him at; places a boy his age got no business goin' off to."

Elizabeth had begun to understand what that meant, not for the first time wondering what McMurghan feared about West Deepfall. The stricken look in Daniel's eyes kept her from admitting that the boy, had indeed, been down at the Deepfall River bridge, and quite recently. She knew because she had seen him there when her own curiosity had won out against caution and warnings.

Instead of the imagined dreary, dread-filled hollow with evil, twisted trees shrouding all life, the spot was a blaze of sunlight and the faint scent of wild flowers. And before the ground gave way, a great thunderous roar that could drown out all sound - including her scream.

Half-expecting an enormous waterfall plunging into an abyss, the sight of a sagging rope and narrow planked bridge spanning the width of an incredibly deep ravine still caught her breathless with horror. Nothing like it existed in Port Royal or any other place she knew of_ - _unless you believed Gibbs about plummeting bone cages.

No _sane_ person would dare step onto anything so high above a dangerous river obviously unsafe to cross. Worse, those long green specks moving sluggishly along the rocky sand embankments had looked suspiciously like sunning alligators. Yet, little Daniel had stood on the precipice as if hypnotized by the deafening rush of white water far below as he tossed tiny yellow flowers into the air and watched their petals scatter and float down along the steep canyon wall. Elizabeth's scream carried her fear for the child no further than her own lips, and the boy never saw the trembling woman embracing the trunk of a leaning tree behind him.

Mathew's attention went to the two remaining baskets in the back of the cart. "Here, Mrs. Turner, let me get those for ya, then, shall I?" He didn't wait for a response so she just nodded and stepped back.

"Thank you, and that's Elizabeth," she murmured, watching him heft both baskets under his arms without spilling too many berries. Behind her, Daniel sat in the grass, unusually quiet, his gaze once more drawn in the direction of unseen West Deepfall. Granted, the boy's fascination with the bridge was a bit disturbing, but then was not forbidden places always more interesting to a child? Unbidden, she touched her stomach gently, musing if she would soon learn more about children with the promise of one of her own.

"I would wish for a boy - to protect you while I'm away," Will had whispered to her, kissing her soft belly. She could still feel his loving touch, and the ache of his absence had faded only enough to be tolerable in her waking hours.

Ten years was a very long time, and days passed too slowly when filled with loneliness. Natalie McMurghan and her family were a blessing to her, even if the poor woman believed that her husband was of those in servitude on the _Flying Dutchman_. Elizabeth couldn't tell her otherwise as she had only briefly seen the ship's newly-human crew when Will had saluted the _Black Pearl's _captain after the battle that had sunk the _Endeavor_.

_Two months away from him, and he's now just the Black Pearl's captain? _She chided herself inwardly with mild regret, _and no longer Jack, the man who would not forgive her_.

Or maybe it had taken this enforced solitude to realize that _she _had yet to forgive herself no matter the reason behind the deed.

How many nights had the haunting clink of chains and the horrible sight of the Kraken's tentacles curling around the sinking black ship shaken her from a restless sleep in a chilled sweat, the plaintive echo of Jack's voice calling out her name? And in that first half-waking moment, she had sought nothing more than to console a despicable pirate - only to repent for the rest of her day wishing he had _never_ swaggered off those exaggerated pages of her books and shown himself to her to be so damnably human.

Mathew reappeared brushing his hands together. "Oh, Mrs. Turner, ya got a loose floor board near the cellar," he announced, sparing a glance at his nephew. "Natalie tells me ya could be… gotta be safe, what a nice lady as yerself bein' in a… _condition_, as it were."

Tightening her gray woven shawl around her shoulders to cover her stomach, Elizabeth nodded faintly. She didn't recall any conversation about possible pregnancy. It had to be the widow's own unnerving assumption.

Yes, back in Port Royal she would openly celebrate the hope; here and alone, it made her feel almost -- defensive and unprotected.

No, that feeling had less to do with her probable condition and more to do with the burden of what she must keep safe down in the root cellar. And, if there had been a man _near_ her cabin that was the thing which she deeply feared the loss of. Unfortunately, _if_ young Daniel knew of its hidden existence so might anyone whom the boy spoke to - including Mathew. That was already too many people. And much like his troubled nephew, the man bore a weight of his own with the untold fate of his wife and daughter.

For Elizabeth, it was hard to offer trust amongst so much blatant secrecy. And she found it sadly ironic that the only one wanting to share had been forbidden to do so. Or else he was just too afraid of the price of truth himself.

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TBC:

**Part 3 – The Telltale Creak**

AN: True, Elizabeth may be a bit paranoid, however, this was a woman of privelege and social rank - she's never had to fend for herself like this before with people she didn't know to rely on.


	3. The Telltale Creak

AN: Thank you; thank you for the great reviews! I was about to put this aside for LIES TRUE/5. They're unrelated, though both stories are of the same timeline (Post AWE).

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Summary: Chasing a possible crook, Elizabeth stumbles onto the auspicious return of someone she _never_ expected to see again.

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**Part 3 –** **The Telltale Creak**

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Caught in her own turmoil, Elizabeth barely heard Mathew's usual warning to the boy before he headed towards the distant tree line to hunt. The gray shawl nearly flew from her arms as she spun around and headed back into the cabin. She was just reaching for the oil lantern when Daniel tramped in behind her, following a haphazard trail of berries.

"Thanks, Missus Turner," he said gratefully between mouthfuls. "You gonna move yer valued things now?"

My _valued _things? Elizabeth felt her breath catch, but she released it slowly, lowering the lantern as she spied the pail in the corner. "Daniel, I will need water to wash the berries with. Please, would you take that pail and go down to the well for me?"

Daniel hesitated, a half-suspicious gaze went quickly from the oil lantern to the pail, and then he shrugged and did as she asked. The boy also, however, turned with a sly smile at her back as he saw her lift the heavy latch on the root cellar door.

Elizabeth could barely wait another minute when the heavy door finally shuddered open to release the dank, stale odor of the old root cellar. She lifted the oil lantern from the floor, barely mindful of a grating creak as she stepped back onto the loose board. The cabin was old, she told herself absently, and in need of repairs - as Mathew had said before.

Five rough wooden steps and she stood in the tiny root cellar. But for the hard-packed dirt floor and inwardly curving walls, plus a vague smell of damp vegetation, it felt much like the darkest, most cramped hold aboard the _Pearl_. However, if there was a rat or two down there with her, they were thankfully smart enough to stay out of the weak light as the oil lantern traveled across stacks of ship barrels before catching the dusty frame of the three-tiered shelf built high into the wall. That was where she kept jars of preserves, a few beautifully decorated vases from the relinquished _Empress_, and on the top shelf always securely wrapped in a piece of white sail canvas- sat an ornately ugly sea-green chest.

Elizabeth's heart tightened in her own chest. She didn't have to raise the lantern any higher to confirm her most terrible fear: that concealing piece of white canvas now lie crumpled on the cellar floor at her feet next to an overturned barrel. As she stared numbly down at it, two thoughts ran a collision course through her frantic mind:

Dear God, Daniel was _not_ lying about a visitor, but I didn't believe him!

That wretched boy, Daniel _was_ trying to steal what's in the chest all along and made up a stupid story about a visitor!

Either way, Daniel McMurghan owed her the truth _now_ and she was determined to get it from him even if she had to go to that bothersome child's guardians! She had faced worst things in her short pirate career than an antagonistic uncle or delusional mother!

Unwillingly, she bent to pick up the sail cloth, but as her fingers closed around the canvas, Elizabeth heard the sound she realized that she had half-expected to: the telltale creak of a foot coming down upon loose board above.

"Daniel?" Elizabeth called out nervously, "Daniel, is that you up there!"

Her only answer was a muffled curse that a child of Daniel's age should never know.

Biting back a sharp oath of her own, Elizabeth nearly dropped the lantern as she gathered up her long skirt in a fitful hurry to leap up the crude stairs. Not surprisingly, the small cabin was empty when she reached the top, a spring breeze sweeping inside from where her front door had been flung wide.

Gone. Dear Heaven, she had failed William horribly and there was no way to warn him.

"Missus Turner!" The boy launched his small body through the doorway, gasping in excited disbelief, water from the pail spilling and splashing everywhere around him.

A small spark of hope.

Before he could blurt out a word, Elizabeth shoved the lantern into his free hand and said urgently. "I know! Did you see where he went?!"

Daniel gaped at her, managing a wide-eyed nod of wonder as he immediately pointed the lantern towards the southeast.

"Not towards the bridge?" Elizabeth frowned, caught suddenly off guard. "Daniel, are you sure about this?"

The boy nodded anxiously, tangled hair flopping over his nose. "Honest, Missus Turner! Down ta the water be the way he took! You see? You see? I told you they was a--"

"Visitor, I know," Elizabeth groaned. Without thought, she reached behind into the basket of berries, grabbed a handful and shoved them into the boy's startled open mouth. "Your reward for telling the truth," she called back over her shoulder, already halfway past the garden before he could finish swallowing the surprise treat.

As Elizabeth raced down the gradual slope, her bright skirt flying around her legs, it didn't occur to her until she had reached the edge of the long strip of barren crop fields behind the dead village that chasing a fleeing stranger whom had invaded her home might not be a wise idea - alone. Granted, it was far too late to get Mathew for help - even if she knew _where_ to find him. Still, Pirate King or not, she had no idea what she might be up against once she located the bold, foolhardy intruder.

And if she were to be honest with herself, nor did she have any plan _beyond_ learning who would be in the market or command such risks to get the heart of the _Flying Dutchman._

But since the man was leaving a good enough trail through loose dirt that an eleven year-old could follow in his blind haste that was going to be a concern she would face soon.

Or so she had thought before she saw the rocky cliffs above the beach ahead.

The uneven path of trampled yellow grass came to an abrupt halt at the cliff's edge. From there, narrow trails cut through the stone mounds leading to the mountainous rocks along the beach. The problem was, however, each trail tended to veer off toward a different part of the beach, and Elizabeth only knew of the wider, main one, which she took to meet the _Empress's _boats coming ashore. The crude main trail, she could see from her vantage point, was clear all the way down to an empty beach. She was about to take it anyway, when the noise of raised voices echoed angrily from the east where nothing stood but a cluster of ship-sized rocks, boulders and narrow, dipping tide pools.

Bumbling intruders to the island or unusually loud thieves?

From the corner of the wild field atop the cliff, the ocean spread out before her far below in a calm, majestic blue. No sail on the sun-hazed horizon or anywhere else in view. The rounded stone towers climbing up the north side, unfortunately, made the panorama a little limited and offered no discernible access from the beach.

Cautiously, Elizabeth turned away from the main trail, wondering if there might be a way she could get closer and see what was happening below without revealing herself since she had no weapon for defense or attack.

She had just walked past an uneven row of enormous bell-shaped rocks jutting from the canyon, however, when one of the three disembodied voices rang out a little too clearly to be mistaken - and it had emanated from directly where the northeastern shore _should_ have been.

"Oi, gentlemen, shall we be civil about this, honorin' your partners, thieves to a crime, and all that?"

No, it could not be _him_.

No. _Not..._ him.

The last time she'd heard that odd flow of accentuated speech, the man behind it had just rebuffed her gratitude before his crew and her new husband out of a stupid superstition!

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TBC:

**Part 4 – A Not So Clandestine Gathering**

AN: This woman is emotionally caught up by what's just been done - the rational side has yet to surface with necessary questions.


	4. A Not So Clandestine Gathering

AN: Misplaced Hearts is _mostly_ about Liz trying to keep Will's heart safe while he's away on the_ Dutchman, _and protecting her own when the first real temptation - or not - arrives on her doorstep with his own agenda.

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Summary: Elizabeth finds a novel way to get revenge on an unwitting old _friend._

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**Part 4 – A Not So Clandestine Gathering**

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Elizabeth quickened her steps, certain that she must be mistaken. Following the loud voices, she rounded a massive boulder to find a narrow crevice cut into stone beneath it. It was a difficult pass for a woman in a long skirt, but she managed to negotiate it with a minimum of scraped skin and torn clothing from the jagged rocks.

Truth be told, she thought almost glibly, she could have climbed down in full chorus of 'A Pirate's Life," for the ruckus that those three were causing. Apparently, none of them knew the meaning of a 'clandestine gathering' among thieves. And by the increasing volume of the three clashing voices, the crooks were anything but civil about it.

Despite that, Elizabeth still couldn't locate them among the towering rock maze. Then she spotted what looked like a low-recessed inlet carved under a stone overhang into a tiny, beautiful blue-walled grotto. She meant only to take a minute to admire it, but over by the far ledge a well-weathered dinghy bobbed gently upon prestine water, and it displayed the tattered flag of the Caribbean Pirate Lord on its mast.

Jack Sparrow.

The conniving, low-life, sneaky, treacherous pirate, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, she amended furiously, back to cause her misery by stealing Will's heart?

She didn't take the time to question such motives or even what might have happened to the man's own ship, not when the tempting sight of that oar balanced against the bow had just distracted her.

Who needed a weapon?

Oh, yes, she knew how to deal with his kind, she decided, now unable to contain a gleeful laugh of anticipation in spite of her ire at this callous betrayal of their friendship.

"Friendship, ha!" She gritted, feeling a bitter taste left in her mouth with the possible concept. "How could I ever think that of a man like him! How many times did he purposely mislead or misinform Will for his own selfish purposes?"

The narrow grotto floor appeared damp and the lazy undulating water reflected an odd ripple-like reflection along the smooth, glassy walls. Elizabeth's shoes slid on the slippery ledge as she determinedly reached in for the loose oar. The sharp, reverberating echo of a pistol shot, however, startled her so badly that she missed her footing and tumbled headlong into the shifting boat as the oar slipped from her grasp to hit the dark water with a noisy plop.

In the time it took for her to untangle herself from the suffocating gray coat, the oar had already started to drift away from the dinghy. Desperate, she to catch it before it got too far, Elizabeth knelt low in the boat and vainly tried to paddle by hand.

What she forgot, of course, was that like any true sailor, Jack had tied the thing down so that the current wouldn't pull it – like it had already done with the oar. Too late, Elizabeth realized that all her furious efforts were taking the boat in one direction – over! Yet even as the poor, shuddering boat rolled, dumping her into the water feet first, she cried out in surprised amazement, unable to believe what had just happened!

What was even more astonishing was that Elizabeth had only dropped to her waist. She felt like a hopeless fool as her skirt billowed up around her middle. Naturally, to complete her humiliation, the oar floated defiantly by her left shoulder.

The embattled little dinghy, unfortunately, gave a forlorn gurgle of surrender as it filled up with grotto water and sank, ejecting the familiar worn gray coat and battered tricorn, along with two empty bottles of rum.

For several moments, too stunned to move, Elizabeth could do nothing more than stare at the vacant spot where Jack's boat had been earlier.

"Oh."

She hadn't meant to sink Jack's boat.

Shivering in the chill of the grotto, Elizabeth glumly snagged the passing oar and pushed herself through the waist-deep water. Despite casualties, her mission was unchanged: make Jack Sparrow wish he'd never heard of Elizabeth Swann nee' Turner.

Naturally, in the back of her mind, she already knew that the pirate had passed that point a long while ago – right about when he'd been introduced to Jones' relentless pet.

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TBC:

**Part 5 – Ready Oar Not**


	5. Ready Oar Not

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Summary: Elizabeth's first encounter with one of the thieves gives them both a shock when she unintentionally blocks his escape route.

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**Part 5 – Ready Oar Not**

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Carrying the oar in one hand, Elizabeth angrily sloshed through the water to the nearest ledge as she shoved the pirate's drenched coat and hat ahead of her. For reasons that she was unable to fathom, she had allowed herself to salvage them, not that she felt less furious with him for obviously hiring that wretched man to steal treasured property entrusted to her.

Treasure. That's all it had ever meant to that worthless excuse for a – a pirate.

Good man, ha!

The idea of his deception inwardly stirred the heat of anger to her cheeks and a red haze at the corners of her vision that _no_ amount of splashed water from the grotto could douse.

_'Time and tide, love.'_

Vengeful-minded and soaking, the disheveled woman used the dinghy's oar as support to pull her out of the water, steadfastly ignoring several wet ringlets on her back or how the skirt clung to her dripping skin. The only thing that stopped her angry march from the blue-hued grotto was direction, or lack thereof.

The arced mouth of the grotto, which she stood shaking at the center of, wound along a tide pool carving its way down between a myriad of craggy rock walls. Late morning sun appeared to slant across the overhead stone formations. And that's when she realized – they weren't _out_ on the beach, they were somewhere down here _behind _it.

To her left, beyond the tide pool, a lopsided gap in the rocks appeared to cut further east in a northerly bend _away _from the main beach. Figuring that she was already thoroughly lost, she hefted the oar to her side and stomped out into the brief warmth of full sunlight on her damp face. The gap ended at the base of a dark, crooked cavern entrance in the rock wide enough for to drive her cart through.

This was it. The muffled, odd echo of men's voices, she knew, had come from the other side of this tilted, jagged-roofed tunnel and not even the steady trickling along the wet walls could cover it.

Shivering against a cooling breeze, Elizabeth paused long enough to listen. Since the thunderous crack of the earlier pistol shot, she realized, that the three voices had not been as strident or loud. In fact, the most she'd heard from them recently sounded like scuffling – solid objects impacting on rocks.

Apparently this trio of hopeless robbers, Sparrow included, either couldn't agree how to dispose of their ill-gotten object or they had decided against sharing. But with luck, they'd murder each other, if they hadn't already.

The tunnel's arched, well-lit exit came in sight, and she could see dazzling white sand as well as a thin strip of shimmering blue just beyond it to the right.

Great. Almost to the beach, and Elizabeth was a bit unsure what she should be ready for once she reached it, even as she raised the oar to strike with.

Still, the poor woman was certainly unprepared for what _did_ happen.

One minute, the tunnel's exit appeared full of late morning brightness, but in the next, an agitated red and white shadow abruptly jumped in front of her, splintering sunrays through flying black hair. There was barely a second for dark eyes to register the upraised oar paddle before his amazed face turned into one huge O! Elizabeth's startled screech, however, made him instinctively reel, grit his gold teeth and hop back out of her reach just as a growling second man charged behind him gripping a canvas bag.

The stolen heart!

In a renewed fit of rage, Elizabeth burst out of the cavern, savagely swinging the oar at the evasive red bandana.

"Here, love, you've no need for doin' _that_, ey?"

She hesitated briefly when her eyes met a frantic plea for mercy, and then in a dark swirl of trailing hair and dangling beads, he leapt aside to avoid an attack from behind, his left forearm up and blocking a mean blow to his jaw. Streaks on his right sleeve shown deep red as he spun again, but the nimble pirate had already lunged between two boulders and back toward the beach before either of his assailants could move.

The man with the canvas bag got one wide-eyed look at the oar and took off, fleeing in the same direction as Sparrow.

"Pirates," Elizabeth muttered, wearily dropping the oar back to her side.

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TBC:

**Part 6 – To A Pirate King Victorious**

AN: Please see my profile under Monthly Update.


	6. To A Pirate King Victorious

Summary: Madness on the shore erupts; someone gets clobbered with an oar, and what's in that bag?

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**Part 6 – To A Pirate King Victorious**

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Mustering her strength after failing to bludgeon the agile Sparrow, Elizabeth ran after the thieves, half-dragging the oar behind her in the sand. What she found on the far side of the rock walls, however, only confused her purpose.

Was this supposed to be their escape?

The tall crook, waving the canvas bag, wrestled with the smaller one as they both tried to get into a longboat bouncing halfway off the shore. Sparrow, almost knee deep in water and visibly flagging, had the first one in an awkward, one-armed neck choke as he swiped for the bag. The smaller one, with no apparent regard for pirate or partner, tried to wriggle past them, intent upon climbing into the boat. Amid the grunts and groans, not one caught her silent, determined approach.

If the tall crook hadn't chosen that time to viciously elbow Jack in the belly, she could have caught them _all_ off guard. But as the pirate staggered backward, he glanced up to see the oar again aimed for his head. Despite his obvious pain, he tossed her a wicked grin - and then ducked.

"Sooorrry, Sydney!"

A puzzled, frowning Sydney spun from the boat as the descending oar caught him fully on the chin. A moment's look of dazed disbelief, and then the tall crook toppled into the boat. The force of impact, however, loosened the thief's grip and the bag sailed into the air, arcing across the bow. Jack, teetering where he stood, cupped a hand over his eyes like Elizabeth did, and followed its trajectory with a look of abject horror and loss.

Meanwhile, the smaller crook yanked his senseless companion and tried to steer the boat to follow its descent. The tied canvas bag, whether fortunately or not, landed with a squishy smack atop a half-submerged rock at the sloped base of a cliff jutting out from the main island. One good hit by a wave would take it under and the sea would swallow it.

Jack glanced from the rock to Elizabeth, sharing a cautious gaze and hoping she understood, by unhappy circumstance, that they _both_ stood the watery line of defense between the all-but-thwarted crook and his soon-to-be sunken prize.

Elizabeth grimaced, then nodded in truce and went to lift the oar, but for the second time that morning the traitorous thing had slipped away from her. It must have happened as she'd gone numb with fear, knowing her chance to save the heart lost to fate's whim. She could only shrug helplessly, splaying her empty hand.

Sore and exhausted, Jack offered a fatalistic smile. "Not to worry, darlin', Irving's not very good - that bein' with no pistol." He had no need to tap his limp arm for her to understand. Adroitly using his left hand, he doffed a hat to her that wasn't there, bowing in slightly mocking reverence. "To a Pirate King victorious."

To her chagrin, Elizabeth could not hope to sort the jumbled feelings of justice from regret at Jack's solemn praise before Irving was almost upon the fading pirate. Jack managed a warning yell and evaded the on-rushing prow driven by the waves, shoving her aside as he dropped from sight beneath the rolling swell.

Slightly disoriented and coughing up seawater, Elizabeth regained her footing before the powerful wave swept her under. "Jack, you maniac!"

It took her a moment to focus and finally see that the longboat was ahead now by several meters and nothing in the ocean blocked its path.

"Jack?"

One glance back told her that the pirate had not resurfaced in the rocking wake of the longboat.

She was on her own - again.

Irving, anxiously clutching the oar, knew that he had nothing to fear from the floundering woman behind him; he feared only the ocean's challenge of ownership now, as any sailor well might. They were in her realm, and with the every slamming wash of wave into cradling rock, she came closer to winning his prize. Trying desperately to beat her, Irving was deaf to Elizabeth's gasps as well as his own partner's moaning, his eyes obsessively fixed on the sagging, wet canvas bag.

For Elizabeth, the roiling water was much like a solid weight wrapping itself around her lower body, no matter how hard she pushed against it, her movements were too sluggish and clumsy to get close enough to stop the longboat.

Jack was gone, and in a matter of minutes, so would be Will's coveted heart.

Nothing was going to stop that wretched thief. He was too close now.

As water slapped at her chin, it was impossible to tell where the salt of her frustrated tears met the taste of the mocking sea. Half of her wanted the next wave to steal what she had failed to protect; the other half prayed the ocean would be merciful to one of her own chosen servants.

"Please don't let this _happen_, Calypso," she begged, closing her eyes briefly. A distant rumbling answered her, but as she looked out at the sea in apprehension, boiling, gray-edged clouds had half-outlined the sun with the threat of a late-day storm.

No promise of favor by a temperate sea goddess.

Elizabeth saw no other choice.

Yes, she knew that she was a fair swimmer – out in open waters. But closer to the shore, hidden currents and protruding rocks made it dangerous, even for stronger swimmers, like Jack.

With a last look back at the thickening gray clouds, she took in a deep, shuddering breath, kicked up off the bottom and plunged forward, both arms outstretched - and dove straight into a blinding face full of choking water. Flailing in a near panic, unable to see for several seconds, her head bobbed free long enough to greedily draw air into her lungs, and then hold her breath as she felt a tremendous swirling pull downward.

Instead of muscled arms stopping her descent, something hard struck her left shoulder, briefly numbing her entire limb. Stunned, Elizabeth peered up through an oddly bright blue-green wavering haze to see the dark outline of the boat almost on top of her. Before she could react, the oar plunged in and plowed another watery trough - this time towards her head. Instantly she latched onto the wood pole and yanked, the downward force of it just enough leverage to surge her head and shoulders to the surface and the boat to tip dangerously low. She had a blurred glimpse of Irving's stunned and outraged face before she gripped the side of his boat one-handed. The wind had suddenly picked up, stirring frothy waves to pound the boat and toss fountains of spray high over Irving's back and into Elizabeth's face.

"Stupid wench," Irving gritted, water dripping from drenched brown hair into his colorless features. "You know what you've _done?"_

"Murdering bastard," she wheezed, spitting out salt water, half-wondering what he meant, but more aware that she had just gotten another chance to stop him from possibly destroying the captain of the _Flying Dutchman -- _and her beloved husband. "I know what _you_ have!"

_To a Pirate King victorious._

Unmindful of the increasingly darkening sky, Elizabeth gathered up her Pirate King dignity and grabbed at the hovering oar with the intent of smacking him in the face with it. But Irving quickly swung it away, and may have meant to strike her with it when he suddenly froze, wide eyes on the choppy water to her left. A pale white flurry of motion below her legs caught her attention as well.

"Jack?"

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TBC:

**Part 7 – Prosperity Lives**

AN: In the next few chapters, young Daniel has disappeared, the last person she would expect rescues a grieving Elizabeth, a clue to the whereabouts of Will's heart is uncovered in an unlikely place, and it's revealed if that was Jack or not in the water.

Leaving now for a while for LIES TRUE/5 – as was mentioned on my profile's Monthly Update.


	7. A Undeserving Protector

AN: Changed the title of this chapter because more bits were needed not evident from the bare-bones draft, and it worked better, I think. But it also turned it into a 2 parter.

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Summary: After the disastrous water battle to save the heart from thieves, Elizabeth seems to lose faith in herself as Will's devoted wife.

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**Part 7a – Undeserving Protector**

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"Jack?"

Only a hopeful whisper amid the surrounding turmoil.

The pirate must be alive, and at any moment would shoot straight out of the water like a manic dolphin and knock Irving senseless with a solid, redeeming punch.

But in truth, Elizabeth had barely a glance at whatever had spooked Irving before the first heavy drops of rain pocked the surface to obliterate it. It didn't stop the crook's oar from flashing past her ribcage to stab furiously into the disturbed water - at nothing. Then he glanced up and realized that his boat was dangerously close to colliding with the rock he'd been attempting to reach.

"NOOOO!"

Irving's enraged howl mingled with Elizabeth's horrified outcry as they both looked for the canvas bag - and saw only the empty rain-slicked rock.

Had Calypso claimed it in her name or simply released it from an undeserving protector?

It made no difference to the thief. Irving abandoned the oar, about to jump in to search for the lost bag, but a half-recovered Sydney fiercely pulled him back as he pointed to a ship a good distance out. Irving frowned at it as if undecided. Impatiently, Sydney grabbed for the oar just as the boat hit a huge wave, lifting it high and tossing it at the ridge on the far side from where Elizabeth struggled in the downpour.

Through the blurring rain, she had seen the limp white sails and wondered how long it had been out there or if they would offer help to those whom were obviously in some type of distress here.

Unless this ship had come to pick up the two escaping, but unsuccessful thieves.

Or maybe that's where the cowardly pirate had slunk off to, simply deserting her when things had gone bad for him.

_How typical of you, Jack Sparrow._

At first, she tried desperately to keep the rolling boat and two frightened crooks in sight, but the forceful storm currents surged her past where the bag had sunk and slammed her into more submerged rocks jutting from the unlevel cliff face, nearly stunning her with the pounding impact to bone.

That's when Elizabeth quickly forgot about the hapless thieves as well as the possible occupants of the mysterious ship, and just tried to survive not being dashed to a gruesome death on the dangerous rocks. Despair, outrage, and self-recrimination would have to wait.

She struggled on, tired arms flopping through the sweeping white-capped swells. But like a trapping whirlpool, it sucked her back into the punishing rocks until she lacked strength to do more than grab onto a narrow boulder in her path. She clung to the slippery mound as the surf heaved and pitched her bruised body against her anchor. Exhausted, dizzy, and rapidly weakening, she gagged on mouthfuls of tepid, salty water, barely aware of a grinding CRAAACK. The air abruptly alive with spinning jagged slabs and splinters of wood, however, warned her of the boat's fate. The larger, longer pieces of debris slapped harmlessly into the water behind her, but a few nasty little slivers left agonizingly sharp, burning sensations along her aching, outstretched left arm.

Elizabeth cried out, but a Pirate King need spare no time to bemoan her painful misfortune; she knew that she had to get out of the water before her hold became too feeble to matter any longer.

And even as her head was pushed under another suffocating wave and she tried not to breath into the cascading sheet of water, she could feel her strained arms slipping from their grip, over-stretched muscles wanting to give into blissful relief -- and the unrelenting pull of the surf toward swift, excruciating doom.

She saw only one opportunity to save herself and it would be a risk, but she already knew that she was going to take it.

Not too far beyond her anchor sat a low stone ledge, perhaps less than a foot above the rush of water, withered tree roots sprang limply from a crevice in the hard ground and hung over the side of the uneven shelf like emaciated vines. Seeing a chance, Elizabeth knew she had no time to waste thinking about how it might not work. She exerted what energy she could muster to drag herself a little higher up the boulder, then extended her heavy right arm. She grasped for the half-buried root tantalizingly inches out of her reach.

No good. Her fingers barely touched the dripping lip of the stone ledge itself.

She wanted to rail and scream at the ocean about the unfairness of having salvation that close and still denied it, but she couldn't give into the debilitating frustration that she could feel simmering at the edge of raw emotion. And worse; the tips of her fingers were tingling with the threat of numbness.

_You really must keep a clear head about this, Elizabeth_.

Funny, but she'd lost count of how many times she'd fervently whispered that mantra since Barbossa had kidnapped her almost four years ago, and it had, strangely enough, never failed to carry her father's sternly calming voice.

It didn't seem possible, but today it sounded very much like a scolding Jack Sparrow!

No! Forget him! She had to concentrate all her effort and thought on reaching the small ledge. She could hardly feel her fingers now, but if she let go before she could catch hold of the hanging roots, _nothing _could hope to stop the fearsome press of waves from crushing her against the solid rock wall beyond.

And yet even as a promising wave washed over her and Elizabeth let go of the boulder, she thought that she heard a familiar voice bubble above her, urging her to hold on, that he would not let her drown. And then the fluctuating image of his dark face rakishly capped with the faded red bandana swam into her vision through the half-blinding streams of water. For a bizarre moment her sight flashed an extremely bright blue-green and from a great, detached distance she saw a hand that looked like hers break the surface. The rock ledge wavered oddly and then seemed to resemble the planked docks of Port Royal. Her rational side told her that it was not real, but all she cared about was the pirate's hand reaching for her where the roots had been seconds earlier.

Part of her wasn't even surprised when a solid flesh and bone hand closed over her icy wrist and held it firmly. She didn't actually see a face, but knew that someone had dragged her abused, cold and soaking body out of the churning water and placed a wonderful, dry, warm covering across her convulsively shivering shoulders. In the comfortably fuzzy, floating world inside her head, she pictured the two bumbling English marines, Murtogg and Mullroy. They were fussing over her, tending to her, so worried that Norrington would strip them both of rank if she were unwell that Jack could have easily slipped away without being missed by either of them.

"She alive?"

"Aye, she'll be fine, don't worry about the silly wench. I'll take care of her."

"Kinda strange place for her to be if you was to ask me."

In her half-conscious state, Elizabeth saw only the two hovering, bayonet-waving, red-coated marines on the Port Royal docks, but the coarse words that seemingly came from their moving lips could _not possibly_ belong to that unobtrusive pair.

"Well, no one did, fool. Forget her - what the bloody hell happened! I pay you idiots to take orders, not chase after frightened boys!"

"But we lost both of 'em, sir. They didn't return to the ship."

Eerily enough, as she lie prone there on the dock, the clomp clomp of approaching booted soldiers in the distance, she _almost _thought that she could recognize one of the unseen voices. But the accompanying deep-toned gruffness was _not _familiar to her, and its very existence cautioned her not to slit one eye open in the slightest show of interest or betray that she might be listening to what she probably should not be hearing.

"You lost much more than that, you imbecile! I told you to wait out there for my signal before sending anyone ashore!"

"Sorry, sir. We saw Sparrow - he somehow beat us here. Bad luck for him. We caught him trying to warn the kid and Ballins shot him."

_Oh, Jack, what kind of awful business have you gotten yourself into this time, you maniac?_

"Not the boy...?"

"No, sir, the kid - he took off when Sparrow got shot. I lost him in the caves - somewhere. Sorry."

_So there were three thieves instead of two? Was young Daniel all right?_

"And Sparrow?"

"Ain't seen that crazy pirate since he...

Elizabeth tried to hear his reply, she needed to know what Jack meant to warn Daniel about, needed so many more answers but the voices were already fading, echoing into nothingness. The red jackets were turning an odd colorless gray as was the water, the wooden dock planks, and Jack's drenched bandana. Instead of musingly fingering the cursed medallion around her neck, he had her hand clasped between his, briskly rubbing the numbed fingers as she met his concerned dark eyes and he mouthed what looked like, "you'll be okay."

She nodded in thanks, smiled, and released him into oblivion at the same moment that William stepped forward impeccably dressed as Commodore Norrington demanding to know what she'd done with the heart which he'd entrusted to her.

She never felt the cold fingers touch the side of her damp neck or snatch away the black coat impatiently. Also, fortunately for Elizabeth, she was unconscious when her callous rescuer dumped her into the back of an old, wobbly-wheeled wagon like an afterthought, grumbling about this being the first shipment in years that might be delayed.

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**TBC:**

**Part 7b– Undeserving Protector**

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	8. 7B Underserving Protector

Summary: After the disastrous water battle to save the heart from thieves, Elizabeth seems to lose faith in herself as Will's devoted wife.

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**Part 7b – Undeserving Protector**

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"You really must keep a clear head about this, Elizabeth."

"Father?" Elizabeth snapped open her eyes to the sunlit bedroom suit in the governor's mansion. "Port Royal again," she whispered incredulously, and there, her father, alive and examining the fine sword that he would proudly present to Commodore Norrington on the day that her life had irrevocably changed.

But before she could slip out of the bed to go to him, the whole room shook in the wake of a thunderous boom. The _Black_ _Pearl _attacking the town? No, it was much too soon for that to happen! Yet like Jack, she now knew the sound of those guns in the harbor.

"It's a beautiful day outside." Her father seemed oblivious to the assault or her concern. He turned to pull open the window shutters.

"No, father, please, no, don't touch those!" she pleaded, catching his wide laced sleeve. "You don't understand! The pirates don't attack us until nightfall!"

"What nonsense is that?" Weatherby Swann scoffed, "Pirates won't attack this fortified garrison. It would be suicide!"

"They won't care about that," Elizabeth tried to reason, hastily pulling the medallion from beneath her morning gown. "They'll come for this and they will murder everyone in the town to find it and take it back!"

"Really, my dear child, that's quite enough," Swann returned patiently. "I realize that I was too lenient on Margrette allowing you to read all those silly books when you were suppose to be learning social etiquette from your governess."

"Father, no…" she pleaded, but she couldn't stop him. The protective shutters slammed open to reveal the moonlit firefight between Barbossa's men and the garrison. Yet even as she stepped to the terrace to watch in confused awe, the shutters fell away to become dark, shivering ratlines, pristine white terrace planks turning into a rutted black deck littered with death and reeking destruction.

The smell of smoke, charred wood, spilled kerosene, and abject fear filled her nostrils. It was the beginnings of the _Pearl's_ tragic death throes. He stood alone with his back to her in much the same way he had before, drooping shoulders radiating sorrow, regret and loss as he lightly caressed the wooden rails. She watched him hesitate to gaze up at the rigging as if to memorize each spar, mast, sail and line as it would never be again.

"You came back," she heard herself say softly as before, but with far less resentment and conviction behind it to betray him with. "I knew you were a good man."

And as in the countless nightmares of this fatal moment, Jack always turned to her without replying, devastation in his dark eyes, and no audacious, rallying words for her benefit.

He regarded her sadly. "We're not out of this yet, love."

Elizabeth took a tentative step toward him, attempting to recall the reasons why she must do this; why she _had _done this before. But she already felt the gnaw of guilt, regret, and remorse, which would overwhelm her right after the fated deed, and plague her for months while they searched for the way to bring Jack back.

And as always, Jack looked back at her with a mixed expression of curiosity, expectancy and resignation. Even as he waited, she realized this time, he seemed to know somehow that things were about to change between them; he didn't know if he was ready to accept it, but neither did he move.

They were very close now, her fingertips inches from his upper sleeve, his eyes watching her with an intensity, which she could not recall ever seeing there before. And suddenly, the bittersweet connection was broken as never before when Daniel's voice cried out a warning from the rigging above.

"No! Missus Turner, you can't let him be killed!!"

"What?" Elizabeth blinked, startled. This wasn't right. "No... I, I won't..."

She wanted to announce to both of them that she could not do it, but the words choked in her throat as she heard the sharp click of what sounded like a pistol cocking behind them.

"Killed?" Jack frowned in suspicion, eyes darting from her face to her hands, widening in alarm as he took a cautious step back.

"It's too late. I know the truth. I know _your _heart is with _him_ now."

"Wait, William…" Jack had no chance to say more as Elizabeth spun about to see the infuriated blacksmith; pistol aimed unwaveringly at the pirate captain's heart.

"No, Will, it's not what you see, you must believe me!"

"What I couldn't _see_ was that Norrington was right all along," he growled. "You were going to betray me to him, to a filthy pirate, were you not?"

"Filthy?" Jack echoed, vaguely insulted, backing into the mast as he watched the pair.

"Betray? No…" She realized then that she didn't know what she'd meant to do anymore, but it certainly wasn't that. Will had been too noble to step forward and confront her like this, to accuse her when she was at such a loss to defend her actions. What had changed?

"I trusted you, Elizabeth, with the one thing of most value to _me_," he gritted, answering her, "and you couldn't protect it, could you? And now your unforgivable faithlessness has doomed me to the sea _forever_!" The pistol shook in his grip. "I'll not be there _alone_," he declared in fury, and shot Daniel when the boy dropped suddenly from the rigging to stand in front of the retreating pirate.

"You've no _idea_ what a stupid thing you've done," Jack gritted menacingly, crouching at the fallen boy's side. "But in time, I swear you will…"

"NOOOOOO! Will!!" Elizabeth gasped, lunging forward in her cabin bed, unable to breath for several seconds until she felt a gentle, comforting hand on her bandaged arm.

"Shhh! You need to calm yourself, my girl," a quiet, soothing female voice said, patting her wrist. "You've had quite a rough time of it and given yourself a bad fright what with that dream of yours! Whatever could have scared you so?"

"Natalie?" She hadn't expected that. This woman rarely left her own home, always busy with her daily chores. She would have put all three maids, the servant and both cooks in her father's old mansion to shame with her diligence, thoroughness and eagerness to get things done before they arose.

"Yes. Now rest, child. Give yourself time to heal."

"It was, it was only a dream," she whispered, partly to convince herself as she silently added, _where my husband has been condemned by my sad lack of vigilance to remain on the Dutchman forever._

Only a dream.

Elizabeth tried to relax, half-lulled by the pleasant smell of simmering chicken broth warming the cabin, but as she looked out toward the window across from her bed, she noticed that it was early evening. She had lost several hours since the ordeal. When she looked back, she saw Natalie hunched forward in a low chair, her gray-black hair pulled back into a loosely braided bun accenting her high check bones, deep worry lines evident across her exposed temple above thinly tapered brows.

Daniel.

She couldn't bring herself to ask; there were no sincere words of reassurance or comfort to offer the distraught woman when so few memories of her own were clear enough. She felt a strong urge to apologize, but for what?

_For the lies that you must tell this poor woman,_ she berated herself bitterly. _You cannot take the chance of confiding in her about a ship that you are not supposed to know about regardless of how generous a person that she may seem. _

Faced with this dilemma, Elizabeth attempted to sort through the morning's confusion of significant memories and events. For some reason, they seemed hopelessly jumbled with reenacted dreams and inaccurate images of her last day in Port Royal.

_Is that what happens to an aware person as they nearly drown_? She wondered, unable to suppress a sudden shiver.

Two things _did_ seem clear, however. The heart _was_ gone, and as his wife, she had failed Will horribly, for which it would be impossible to find absolution. And yet no tears came forth to ease an unbearable tightness in her throat. She closed her eyes then, against the realization that, in her hasty tally of self-recrimination, she'd forgotten one other casualty.

Jack Sparrow. But then that crazy pirate _did_ have an enviable talent for eluding others when it apparently most benefited him. Elizabeth wasn't prepared to count him gone quite yet, injured or not. No, he still owed her an explanation for his own exploits today.

"That broth," she started hesitantly, propping herself up onto her good arm, "it smells very good. If you wouldn't mind, please?"

Nodding, Natalie stopped twisting her fingers in the corner of the quilt and forced a weak smile. "Certainly, dear girl." She shot a quick glance at the door, which Elizabeth easily caught and followed with a puzzled frown. "Honey, do you think you might be up to telling me what happened to you? I mean, why it was that Matthew found you half-drowned out on the beach? And those odd little bites in your arm…"

And there it was – too innocently served up to her with a hot bowl of chicken broth.

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**TBC:**

**Part 8 – Daniel's Message**

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	9. 8 Daniel's Message

AN: This is my chance to convey thanks to the reviewers of my other stories. I greatly appreciate all the feedback, folks.

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Shriaz - Thank you for the wonderful comment on _Price of Resurrection_. I'm heading back there next, not to worry.

Lkj - Yes, _Taking It Back _was not meant as a Will-basher.

Starling Rising - I may have thanked you before, but you got what _Prevailing Insanity _was all about, and that deserves another thanks.

XxIcexX - Liz, you know that I'll probably write more funny stuff like _I've Come To Save You _because I can't help myself!

Son Of A Gun - Methinks your Willabeth colors are showing - in _Gone Down With The Pearl_, Jack is angry and wants to hurt Lizzie with his words.

Smithy - Eleoquent, but thanks for reviewing _For Wanting Of A Ship _- change it to the humor category, eh?

Aquatic Cylipso - So glad you enjoyed the _Denying and Sneaky Disclaiming Book of Fatherhood_, I was actually challenged to write it!

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Summary: A troubled Elizabeth finds that she may not be as alone and forsaken as she thought she was.

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**Part 8 – Daniel's Message**

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Matthew McMurghan. The lousy bastardhad hired those men; brought them to the island, allowed them into her cabin to steal Will's chest. And now Jack and a boy may be missing because of _a – _what? Thief? Murderer? Greedy opportunist?

She had no doubt left anymore. It _had_ been his voice, oddly disguised, but Elizabeth was sure now that Matthew had been the one to rescue her from the water, and _thanks_ was no longer the first unbidden sentiment that came to mind.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Elizabeth felt drained, losing her appetite even as she took the steaming wooden bowl into hands trembling with shocked disbelief.

Friend and protector - and one of _his_ men had wounded Jack and scared off a terrified boy whom may have wanted to warn her. How did you trust the sister of a man like that? It was all too much for her to think about right now.

"I'm really tired, Natalie," she managed evenly, offering her the bowl back. "And I honestly don't remember that much. Perhaps tomorrow my head will be clearer."

"Yes, that's quite understandable, my dear girl," Natalie returned, helping Elizabeth back down onto the pillow, and as her weary patient curled into a fetal ball, she gently arranged the quilt over her shoulders, giving it a light pat. "Matthew will stop by a little later to check on the hearth and bring in more wood."

Every muscle in Elizabeth's battered body tensed at that idea, and she bit her lip against strenuous protest. As impractical as it might sound, she never wanted the man inside her cabin again. "Is that really necessary? It's not a very cold night…"

Natalie hesitated, turning from the door, her face impassive as she brushed a loose piece of dark hair away from her chin. "But you had such a chill. It would be no bother."

"I'm quite comfortable," Elizabeth returned in a firmer voice, but inside her heart ached to tell this woman that her child was safe and hidden; that he knew those caverns better than a thief in her brother's employ. "And I would thank you for everything that you have done for me. Good night, Natalie."

"Good night, Elizabeth. I do hope you will try some of the broth again."

"Yes, I will," she promised, and within minutes after the door closed, she was asleep. The faint crackle of embers in the hearth and light wind over the sea cliffs the only sound in her small cabin.

Up until someone stepped on the loose board in front of the root cellar door.

Like any strident warning, it instantly pierced Elizabeth's sound sleep and sent her upright in bed, alarmed, nerves taut in anticipation.

Silence. No wind outside and embers glowing weakly in the hearth cast long, distorted shadows along the cabin floors and walls deep enough to hide a stealthy person. A quick glance at the fastened shutters and lack of filtering daylight told her it was still night.

"Jack?" A wishful, foolish thought left unanswered.

Please God, anyone but Matthew.

Soundlessly, Elizabeth pushed back the covers to edge off the bed, her eyes never leaving the cellar door's dark outline to her right, waiting for it to move. She wasn't sure how she would react if it did. Running and screaming out the front door was not an option since she had to pass in front of the cellar to get out of the cabin. And it would take too long to rip open the latched shutters, plus the clattering noise would probably set off a louder objection by every nocturnal creature on the hillside - and bring Matthew anyway.

No, she was on her own this time.

But the heart was gone, what _more_ could they want from her?

She rested her weight on the bandaged arm, unable to think past her own trepidation,. Ow! Reeling and wincing, she nearly tumbled over her own legs to the wooden floor - an undignified sight for any interloper!

Weapons? Again, the fire poker was too close to the cellar door, and throwing her shoes just seemed juvenile with no target. The kerosene lamp on her tiny bedside table was too valuable to break. What did that leave her?

Natalie's wooden chair.

As stealthily as possible, Elizabeth sidled around the bed and grabbed the back of the wood and canvas chair. The idea of heaving it up over her shoulder was abandoned, however, in the instant that she found how _heavy _the thing was! She barely had strength enough to lift the thick, stubby legs off the floor. Stifling a curse, she resolved to use the small piece of furniture as a battering ram if necessary. Either that, or somebody was going to find themselves seated on the way to the front door!

Unable to brandish a weapon, Elizabeth stood by the bed gripping the back of the chair tightly, ready to push it in front of her with deadly intent - or at least harmful intent - at the first sign that someone was still in there with her.

Oddly enough, it never occurred to her that someone might _already_ be down_ in _the root cellar instead of in the room with her.

That was until she jumped at the briefest flame of a candlewick's flicker beneath the cellar door. A moment later, she heard a muffled click-click-snap and had to still an impulse to duck down behind the chair. Her own heart hammered against her ribcage at the thought of meeting either Irving or Stanley again.

What the bloody hell was going on down there?

Silence. In semi-darkness, Elizabeth braced herself for the cellar door to open a crack, chair ready. But it happened so fast; she had no time for more than a panicked reaction.

The cellar door flew wide, slamming into the wall with a resounding crash that shook the cabin's foundations as fleeing footsteps hit the wood floor. An instant later, Elizabeth propelled the chair forward, but it skidded into the side of the door as it started to bound back, knocking the piece of furniture sideway. Balancing on two teetering legs, it glanced off the stone hearth, jarring the long-cooled iron pot, tipped the rest of the way over, and once more landed in the path of the closing cellar door. The door showed it no mercy, striking the squat little chair with enough force to send it tumbling head over stunted legs down the cellar steps before closing behind it.

In all the commotion, Elizabeth never even noticed that the main cabin door stood open, swinging slightly on its hinges in an evening breeze.

Not again!

Fighting despair, Elizabeth rushed through the doorway; already knowing what she would find when she stepped out into the cool night. The low hillside at the end of the path, the rolling meadow to her right and the overgrown field to her left leading to the abandoned village, all appeared quiet and undisturbed under a half moon.

Elizabeth knew better, resolved to find herself a sturdier slab of wood to barricade her door with as she stomped back inside her cabin. That, and find a decent weapon – even if she had to sharpen a damnable tree branch into a spear! Chairs, unfortunately, made very poor defensive tools.

And now she had to somehow explain to Natalie why _her _chair was at the bottom of the steps in the root cellar probably in complete shambles.

It was _almost_ as unfortunate as her accidental sinking of Jack's dinghy. And probably as tricky to explain. Jack's boat, however, was undamaged and therefore recoverable, but somehow she doubted that a chair would fare too well after a fall like that. Either way, she knew that she had to go down into the root cellar, if for no other reason than to gather up the broken pieces of what was left.

Making certain that both her front door and shutters were securely bolted, Elizabeth lit the kerosene lamp and padded over to the cellar entrance, careful to avoid the loose board. She did not care to hear that eerie creaking sound _twice_ in one night.

As always, the old root cellar reminded her of a dank, musty, and long-unused cargo hold aboard the _Pearl_. Not even the innocuous sight of wooden shelves filled with preserves, jams and other collected oddities could dispel that unwelcoming impression.

Well, maybe the sight of a crumbled green and pale yellow cozy chair helped a little in that respect.

It lay lopsidedly at the foot of the cellar's steps, an unforeseen casualty in her battle to restore a semblance of normalcy. The plush, ruffle-edged cushion, wrenched loose from its wooden housing, now sat on an upper shelf, smothering a jar of preserves. Beyond the slightly askew framework, however, it _looked_ passably salvageable – if one didn't object to the new nicks and gouges left in the stubby legs.

No, wait. _Something_ was missing from the dirt floor. Running the lamp slowly along the foot of the shelf, she found no sign of the crumpled sailcloth. Odd, why would anyone want to move that?

That's when Elizabeth noticed the chest. She could not comprehend what she actually saw: It sat where she'd left it earlier, but once more wound in the sailcloth as though the thieves had _never _disturbed it.

Forgetting the damaged chair, she stared at the re-wrapped bundle in awed disbelief. Then, before she could stop herself, she had rolled around an empty barrel, yanked the ornate chest off the shelf and frantically tore it free of the sailcloth. The big double-armed key dropped out of the crinkled folds as she started to toss it aside.

Hands shaking in nervous anticipation, she freed the lock and snapped the chest open. Success! And yet the darkly-stained white handkerchief that Jack had given her to wrap up the organ remained mockingly crumpled into the corner as before – still empty of its precious living contents.

But the chest was no longer empty, she realized to her surprise. Raising the lantern a little higher, she threw light across a bulky, folded parchment nestled in another corner. Perplexed, she pulled it out to see a trailing looped black string peeking from inside. She caught and pulled the string, and with an outcry, Elizabeth nearly dropped it all, shocked at the sight of an unforgettable ebony, silver-edged pentagonal-shaped box attached at the other end.

Dear God, it was Jack's unique compass.

The flooding rush of unexpected emotions that hit her then nearly doubled her over in their intensity. Hope and relief collided and tackled grief and betrayal – all unfairly released by the unexpected imagine of a compass that didn't even work right.

Or maybe it worked _too_ well.

The enclosing parchment, once Elizabeth was able to glance at it, instantly intensified the mystery of her stealthy night visitor: Two scribbled words: _grahyne vahyz._

ooooo

TBC

AN: If it wasn't Jack skulking around in the cellar, then who else might have his compass?


End file.
